


A Study in Supernaturalness

by whereismypie



Category: Sherlock - Fandom, Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 20:42:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1361092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereismypie/pseuds/whereismypie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean heard a story about a "Hound" in Baskerville and so did Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in Supernaturalness

**Author's Note:**

> This is for http://jewel004.tumblr.com/ .  
> You go girl!

“So get this.”  
Dean had to suppress a sigh when he heard Sam. They had just finished a hunt and all Dean wanted to do was lay in his vibrating bed and listen to music. “What?” he asked slightly annoyed.  
Sam doesn't seem to notice Dean's mood and if he did, he didn't care. “There's a small town called 'Baskerville' where people are disappearing. Some witnesses told the police they heard howling and it sounded 'Not Natural'. Sounds like our kind of job,” Sam finished.  
Dean sat up in his bed. He had to admit that his brother was right. But still … “It could be a wolf? People keep seeing the strangest things.”  
“Yeah and then we go and hunt those things.” He paused. “Come on, we've been travelling for less.”  
And again Sam was right. Dean sighed. “Alright, where is this town?”  
Sam was silent for a moment. “England.”  
“England? Like in the Queen and warm beer England?”  
“Yes.”  
“No!”  
“But this could be a case.”  
“No.”  
“Dean –”  
“I'm not gonna fly in a plane to fricking England!”  
Four hours and bottle of duty free whiskey later Sam and Dean sat down on their seats on the flight to England.  
Dean clutched the armrest tightly, his eyes shut close and started humming a Metallica song.  
“Dude calm down, nothing will happen.”  
“Like the last time we flew?” Dean asked sarcastically.  
Sam decided to shut up before he made even things worse.  
Strangely nothing happened during the flight and they landed in England eight hours later. Dean grabbed their bags and almost stormed out of the plane, gland to feel the ground again. “Never again,” he mumbled to himself, knowing somehow they had to get back home.  
Sam just smiled slightly, taking a map out of his bag.  
“Okay we have to take the train to –”  
“No,” Dean said, shaking his head. “We're gonna get a car and drive.”  
“Dean, you know they drive on the left side here?”  
The green eyed hunter was silent. Then: “Of course I know that.”  
Sam knew he didn't. But he said nothing, just nodded.  
They walked to the car rental counter and a young blond woman smiled at them. “Hello gentleman, may I help you?” she asked with a British accent.  
Dean put his best flirty smile on. “Oh, I bet you can.”  
Sam stood behind his brother, rolling his eyes. “We need a car.”  
“Do you have any preferences?” the woman, whose name was Daisy according to her nameplate, asked.  
“Uh, do you have the James Bond car?”  
Now it was Daisy who rolled her eyes, but she still smiled. “No, sir.”  
Dean's smiled dropped. “Any car will work,” Sam said.  
They ended up in a Mini Cooper. “I hate this country,” Dean muttered.

Meanwhile in London, 221B Baker Street:  
“I need some. Get me some!”  
John sat in his armchair, leaned back. “No,” he said without looking up from his newspaper.  
Sherlock, still covered in blood, made a face.  
“I need a new case.”  
“You just solved one by harpooning a pig.”  
The detective sighed, but said nothing.  
Later that day a man came to them, his name was Henry and he told them a story about a hound in Baskerville. Henry was the opinion that this hound had killed his father years ago and now was back to get him.  
John highly doubted that Henry said the truth, but Sherlock believed him. Maybe he just wanted a new case.  
So they travelled to Baskerville.

Sam and Dean had checked in in a small hotel and actually wanted to go to the woods this night but thanks to the jet lag they stayed at the hotel. Earlier that day, shortly after they arrived in town, they talked to a few people, asking questions about the people who had disappeared. Almost everyone seemed to agree that it was the so called “Hound of Baskerville”.  
“What do you think it is?” Dean asked jawing. He laid in his bed, which was much more comfortable than the beds he was used to. He started to like this country. Not that he'd ever admit it.  
Sam shrugged. “Maybe a werewolf?”  
“But there was no full moon when the people disappeared plus than it'd only eaten their hearts.”  
“Do you have an idea?”  
“A ghost?”  
“What, the ghost of a furious dog?” Sam asked, raising a brow at his brother.  
“Just a thought.”  
He jawed again. “Alright Sammy, bed time.”  
Sam nodded and laid own in his bed. He didn't even tried anymore to tell Dean that his name was 'Sam' and not 'Sammy'.

Sherlock and John arrived in Baskerville the next morning. John had slept in the train, but Sherlock was up all night, thinking about the case. It couldn't be anything supernatural such things didn't exist. So there were two options: Henry had made everything up, what he highly doubted or someone wants to make him believe he was haunted. It had to be the second one. The question was: Who wanted to get Henry out of the way and why?  
It had to be someone living in this village, an outsider just didn't fit. It was probably someone Henry knew and maybe even his father knew.  
They checked in in a small hotel not far from the moor.  
“Do you need a double room?” the man behind the counter of the hotel asked. His hair was grey and he was the owner of the hotel. Or the cook. John wasn't sure about this. “Uhm, no, no we're not a couple. Why does everyone think we're a couple?”  
The man said nothing and just walked to the back to get the keys.

“Dude, did you saw this gay couple over there?” Dean asked grinning, pointing at a tall man in a big coat with dark curls and a shorter, blond man.  
Sam rolled his eyes, walking over to a guy with a plate promoting a tour to see the “Hound of Baskerville”.  
Sam and Dean showed the man their fake ID's.  
“Hello, we're from New York Times and we'd like to know something about this ... hound. A guy in the pub said you saw him?”  
When he heard 'New York Times' his eyes brightened up a bit and he grinned. “Yes. Yes, I saw the hound with my own eyes!”  
It was obvious that he was lying.  
“Can you tell us what exactly you saw?” Dean asked, slightly annoyed, but still friendly.  
“It was big. I mean like really big. Huge! And it had eyes. Oh and fur.”  
Sam shook his head. “Looks like we have the wrong guy.”  
“No, no, no, see, I got this.” Then man pulled out a plaster cast of a paw. A huge paw. “I found it at Dewer's Hollow, it means devil.”  
That caught Dean and Sam's attention.  
“Devil?”  
The man nodded. “Yes. Legend says the devil lives there.”  
“Could you tell us how we get there?” Dean asked.

“We have to visit Dewer's Hollow,” Sherlock said, ignoring the shocked face of Henry.  
“B-but the hound …”  
Sherlock didn't listen and walked over to John. “We need torches.”  
John looked at Henry and sighed. “Do you think it's a good idea, Sherlock?”  
“Of course it is. We leave after dusk,” the detective said, well ordered, putting up the collar of his coat.  
John rolled his eyes. “Don't do this.”  
“Don't do what?”  
“Being all mysterious with your … cheekbones and putting up the collar of your coat so you look cool.”  
“I don't do this.”  
“Yes you do.”  
Henry watched them and couldn't help but think that they acted like an old married couple.

“I hate this country,” Dean muttered as he stepped into a mud puddle. “Everything is wet and cold and muddy.” The man who claimed to knew about the hound had showed them the way to the Hollow but left immediately when the sun set. He had things to do. Sure. Now Sam and Dean were alone, each of them holding a torch in the one hand, the other one always near their guns, ready to shot if necessary.  
It was cold, but that was normal for this time of the year. The only sound came from an owl and some other night active animals, none of them big enough to scare someone. If this was just a joke to Dartmoor more attractive for tourists, Sam would always get to hear it. He could imagine Dean's 'I told you face' and instantly hoped there was a hound. Or anything else supernatural they could kill.  
Over time Sam had learn to ignore Dean's complaining and to concentrate on the important stuff. Now his brother's curse was only an other background sound like … a bird. A grumpy bird. Sometimes Sam couldn't help but think Dean was a mini version of Bobby.  
“Why are you grinning? This isn't funny, my shoe and my jeans are dirty.”  
“As if they're ever clean.”  
Dean glared at his younger brother, who just grinned at him.  
A few minutes later they reached the Hollow. In fact it was like a big hole in the ground filled with fog.  
In the distance they could hear people talking and walking closer. Dean mentioned to a group of trees where they could hide and see who was coming. 

“T-this is it. Dewer's Hollow,” Henry stuttered when he and Sherlock climbed down. Somewhere on the way they lost John, but Sherlock wasn't concerned the ex-army doctor knew how to take care of himself. Sherlock looked around, though he couldn't see much through the fog.  
Suddenly there was a growling in near distance, the fog growing thicker.  
“The Hound!” Henry called, pointing at two red glowing eyes.  
Shots where fired but neither Sherlock nor Henry had a gun. Two men stepped forward from behind a tree shooting at the glowing eyes. Again the beast growled, then disappeared.  
“What the hell was that?” the shorter of the two asked.  
“I have absolutely no idea. But now we can be sure it's not a werewolf. The silver bullets would have killed it,” the other man answered.  
“Sherlock?!” John ran over to them, he had heard the shots, knowing none of them had a gun. When he saw the other two men he blinked confused, then looked at the detective hoping he'd clear things up.

Sam and Dean noticed the other three man were staring at them.  
“Who are you?” Coatman asked.  
“We're from the New York Times?” Dean tried. Of course they didn't believe him.  
“We're hunters,” Sam said.  
“Hunters? You said something about a werewolf.”  
Dean nodded. “Yeah well, this was not a werewolf.”  
“Of course it wasn't. There are no such things as werewolfs.”  
Sam and Dean exchanged glances, not sure if they could tell them the truth.  
“We should talk somewhere … else.”

Back at the hotel Sam and Dean explained everything about the supernatural. Well, not everything, but most of it.  
John listened closely, nodding every now and then, sometimes asked a short question or two but was mostly silent.  
When they finished, the Winchesters stared at John Watson and Sherlock Holmes (Dean had to suppress a laughter when he heard their names). After a few minutes Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but didn't. What those two men had just told him was impossible. Ghost, demons, werewolfs, they were just legends, none of this was real. Was it?  
He definitely saw something back in the Hollow and it wasn't just a big dog. An observer, that was who is was. But who was he when he couldn't trust his own senses anymore?  
Sam and Dean waited for John and Sherlock to say something. The detective, Sherlock, looked like he saw a ghost and was about to faint. John just frowned, like he was thinking very hard about what he just heard, but still none of them said anything.  
“So?” Dean finally asked.  
Silence. He looked over to Sam.  
“We understand if you need a moment,” the younger Winchester said softly.  
“What was this? This thing you and Sherlock saw,” John asked after a moment. He decided he could believe them. For now.  
“We don't know. That's why we're here.”  
“So what you are saying is that you don't know what it is, or how it got here.”  
“Nailed it.”  
“And you're coming all the way from America to find out.”  
Dean pointed at his brother. “His idea.”  
“At least I wasn't wrong like you when we drove 15 hours from Kansas to New Orleans just because you had a 'feeling'.”  
“At least we didn't had to fly in a fricking plane.”  
“At least we have a real case here.”  
“Shut up!” Sherlock yelled.  
Sam and Dean stared puzzled at the dark haired man.  
“This isn't real, none of your werewolfs or ghosts or demons are. You are insane, out of your mind. What we saw at the Hollow was just an illusion, we've been drugged. Everything can be explained rationally. Like this woman over there and her son. She's a widow with a dog called Whiskey, her son was a fisherman but is unemployed now. He hates the sweater he's wearing, a gift from his mother, but he needs her money so he doesn't complain. How do I know this? I tell you how I know this I observe. And what I observe is that you think you speak the truth but you are wrong, both of you have mental disorders and try to explain everything with magic, probably because you lost you mother in a fire very early and your father wasn't there to comfort you. Two afraid children without a home or family –” He couldn't talk on anymore, because of the hands wrapped around his neck. Dean didn't cared that Sherlock was human, he was an arrogant pain in the ass and no one – no one – talks about his family like this.  
Sam tugged on his shoulder, pulling him away from the detective. “Dean, stop it!”  
As soon as Dean had let go of Sherlock, John stepped between them, as if he wanted to protect Sherlock, who was coughing now.  
Without an other word the brothers went upstairs to there room to get rest. Or at least try to. 

The next morning Sam and Dean got up early to go back to the moor. Maybe they had luck and saw the hound, or what ever it is, again, kill it and leave this awful country. Most people were friendly but this dark haired asshole really got on his nerve. Speaking of which, Sherlock appeared in front of him, his lips pressed together tightly, his eyes slightly narrowed. Next to him stood John, digging his elbow into Sherlock's ribcage.  
Dean crossed his arms in front of his chest.  
“John said that … I mean I want to …” he sighed deeply. “What I said last night was not … okay.” Though it was true.  
A small smiled appeared on John's face as if he wanted to say “Good boy” and pet Sherlock's head as a treat. At this thought Dean had to grin.  
“Just make sure it won't happen again.”  
Before Sherlock could reply anything, John said, “It won't. So do you have a plan what to do next?”  
Dean nodded. “Sammy and I will go back to the Hollow.”  
“Can we come with you?” He wouldn't admit it in front of his roommate, but John was curious about this whole non-natural stuff.  
“I guess. If you don't hinter us from doing our job.”  
“We won't. Right, Sherlock?”  
He clenched his teeth. “Right.”

On the way to the Hollow, no one talked. Sherlock was still angry that John made him apologize for what he said, while the ex-army doctor was wondering what they were going to see. Both Sam and Dean concentrated on every sound and noise that didn't belong here. And their hopes were not deceived. They had almost reached the Hollow when they heard a man screaming in pain. The hunters grabbed their guns and started running, just to see how a man who looked like a doctor got torn in pieces by invisible claws.  
“That's doctor Frankland,” John mumbled.  
The sound of his screams mixed with growling. And laughing. Behind the dying man stood a woman, dressed in black, laughing.  
Sam aimed at the woman, but didn't shot, even when he was almost sure she wasn't human. The screams and the growling stopped and it was obvious that doctor Frankenstein or whatever his name was, was dead.  
For the first time the woman looked up, facing them. Her eyes were red.  
“Demon.,” Dean hissed, shooting her right between the eyes.  
She laughed again. “That's cute.”  
“What is going on? What killed Dr. Frankland?” John asked and he wasn't the only one confused.  
The demon walked over to them, still smiling. “I did. Well, my hounds did, to be exactly, but at my order.”  
“Why?”  
“Why? Because his time was up,” she said simply.  
“I don't –”  
“She's a crossroad demon,” Dean interrupted and she nodded. “What did he sold his soul for?”  
“He wanted to see someone dead and I arranged it. Sometimes I shake my head about the things people sell their souls for but hey – that's the business,” she said shrugging.  
“But what did killed him? There wasn't anything.” Sherlock shook his head. He saw something last night, he was sure about this, but whatever killed doctor Frankland just seconds ago was invisible.  
Again the demon shrugged. “There is a drug in the fog that makes you believe seeing thing that aren't real.”  
Now Sherlock understood. They were told to see a hound with red glowing eyes so they did. The thing was that this time it was real what they saw.  
Before one of them could ask an other question or kill the demon, she was gone.  
Dean sighed. “Great. Just great. We came here because of a drug that make you see things that are not real except that it was real but we couldn't do anything. I really, really hate this country.” 

They found out that Henry's father knew about the drug in the fog and therefor he had to die. Doctor Frankland had sold his soul to the crossroad demon to arrange his death for which he had to pay now, by getting torn apart by hell hounds, who were normally invisible but their minds made them think – because of the drugs – the actually saw a hound.  
So at the end both, the Winchesters and Sherlock, were right. Kind of.

“See you next time, Holmes.”  
“Oh, I hope not.”


End file.
